The Young Wireless Operator-As a Fire Patrol Part 5

"Then you know what a magnificent stream this run used to be. Look at it now. I don't believe there is one-tenth as much water in it as there used to be. Suppose all the mountains in this state should be devastated like this valley. Where would the towns and cities get their water?"

"Great Caesar!" said Lew. "I never thought of that. There wouldn't be any water for them to get. If the brooks dried up, the rivers would dry up, too. Why--why--what in the world would we do? There wouldn't be any water to drink or wash in or cook with or run our factories. Why, great Caesar!

If the forests vanished, I guess we'd be up against it. I never thought of the forests as furnishing anything but lumber. And I never thought much about that until we tried to buy a little lumber the other day and the dealer wanted ten dollars for half a dozen boards."

"Exactly!" said the stranger. "That's the price you and I and the rest of us in Pennsylvania pay for allowing our forests to be destroyed."

"They haven't all been destroyed," protested Lew.

"No, but the greater part of them have been."

"You don't mean really destroyed, do you?" asked Lew.

"Yes, sir. Absolutely destroyed. You came up this valley, didn't you?"

"Sure," said Charley.

"Would you call the forest there destroyed?"

"If it isn't, I don't know how you would describe it," said Lew.

"All right, then. There are some 45,000 square miles in this state.

Originally practically all of that area was dense forests. The early settlers thought the timber would last forever and they cut and destroyed it recklessly. The lumbermen that followed were just as wasteful. It was all right to clear the land that was good for farming. But there are more than 20,000 square miles in this state just like these mountains--land that is fit for nothing but the production of timber. None of that land is producing as much timber as it should. Much of it yields very little. And more than 6,400 square miles are absolutely desert, as bare and hideous as the burned valley below us. That's one acre in every seven in Pennsylvania. Think of it! Six thousand, four hundred square miles, an area larger than the states of Connecticut and Rhode Island put together, that is absolute desert! Every foot of that land ought to be producing timber for us. Then we should have lumber at a fraction of its present cost. You see the freight charges alone on the lumber used in this state are enormous."

"That lumber dealer told us they amounted to $25,000,000 a year," replied Lew.

"They do," a.s.sented the stranger. "And when the new freight rates go into effect the amount will be $40,000,000. What it will be when we get our wood from the Pacific coast I have no idea, but I suppose it will be at least double what it is now, anyway."

"The Pacific coast!" cried Lew. "Why should we get lumber from the Pacific coast when we can get it from the South? The lumber dealer told us that practically all the wood we use now conies from the South."

"He was right. But we shall presently be getting our lumber from the far West for the same reason that we now get it from the South. In ten or a dozen years there won't be any lumber left in the South for us to buy.

They will do well to supply themselves. Then we must bring our lumber from Idaho and Oregon and Washington and California. The freight charges will be something terrific, and the wood itself will cost a good deal more than it now does because it will be so scarce."

"Great Caesar!" cried Lew. "What will a poor devil do then if he wants to build a boat?"

"Or if he wants to build a house?" suggested the stranger. "You know lots of folks have to build houses every year. Look at all the people who get married and build homes. Why, when I was a little boy, you could buy the finest kind of lumber for ten or fifteen dollars a thousand. It didn't cost much then to build a house. Now a man has to work for years before he can save enough to pay for a home, even a very modest one. And what it will cost when the wood from the South and the far West is all gone I hate to imagine."

"The wood from the far West all gone!" cried Charley. "Surely that can never be. Why, the forests there are enormous. I've read all about them."

"The forests here were enormous, too, young man. Forty years ago Pennsylvania supplied a large part of the nation with its lumber. And to-day we don't grow more than one-tenth of the wood we use. Yes, sir; within twenty-five years or so after we have finished up the wood in the South, there won't be any left in the far West, either."

"What in the world are we going to do?" asked Lew.

"G.o.d knows," said the stranger solemnly. "But there is one thing we've got to do right now. Get these mountains to growing timber again. We must take care of what has already started to grow and plant trees where there are none. Most important of all, we must be careful with fire. I came down here just to warn you boys to be careful with your fire."

"It wasn't necessary," said Lew. "We fought a forest fire once, and n.o.body but an idiot would ever be careless with fire if he had seen what we have seen this morning."

"Well, I must be moving, boys. There are lots of other fishermen that are not as careful as you are. Good-bye."

The man started on, then turned back. "If you came here to fish," he said slowly, "you're up against it. But I can tell you where to go to get all the trout you want. Go on up to the top of this k.n.o.b. Face exactly east and you will see a gap in the second range of mountains. Make your way through that gap and you'll find as fine a trout-stream as G.o.d ever made.

This is state forest and the Forestry Department wants everybody to use and enjoy the forests. We are always glad to help campers."

"Are you connected with the State Forest Service?" asked Charley, all interest.

"Of course," smiled the stranger. "I'm a forest-ranger," and he threw back his coat, exhibiting a keystone shaped badge on his breast.

"And it's your duty to protect the forest from fire?" asked Charley.

"Yes; and do a lot more besides. A forest-ranger has to look after the forest just as a gardener has to tend a garden. And that means we must care for everything in the forest--birds and animals and fish as well as trees, though, of course, the game wardens have particular charge of the animals."

"And how do you take care of the animals and the trees?" demanded Charley eagerly.

"Young man," he said, "it would take me all day to answer your question.

We do whatever is necessary to the welfare of the forest and its inhabitants. We take out wolf trees, make improvement cuttings, plant little trees, keep our telephone-line in shape, and do a million other things, as we find them necessary. If I had time just now, I'd go down this run and pile some stones in the pools for the trout to hide under. I was through here the other day and I noticed that the c.o.o.ns are playing hob with the fish."

"And does the state pay you for doing this work?"

"Certainly. Pays me well, too."

"Tell me how I could-----" began Charley.

But the ranger interrupted him. "I can't tell you another thing now," he said. "I must be moving. You never can tell when some careless fisherman will set the forest on fire. The fact is I ought to be at headquarters with the other rangers. The chief keeps us pretty close to the office during the fire season, so as to have a fire crew at hand to respond instantly to an alarm. But we have had such difficulty in securing fire patrols this spring that some of us rangers have to do patrol duty. This piece of timber you are in is the most valuable part of this entire forest. It is virgin pine. It would cut close to 100,000 feet to the acre.

There is very little timber left in all Pennsylvania as fine as this. A good part of it has already been burned. We are keeping close watch on what is left. You never can tell when or where fires will start and we want to grab them at the first possible minute. So I must shake a leg."

"How do you grab a fire?" demanded Charley. "Please tell us. Maybe we could help put one out some day if we knew how."

The ranger laughed. "You're a persistent Indian," he said, "and I'm glad you like the forest."

"Like it!" exclaimed Charley. "I love it."

He poured a cup of hot coffee and handed it to the ranger. "Tell us how you put out a fire," he pleaded.

The ranger chuckled. "You're a diplomat as well as a forest lover, I see,"

he said. "Well, I shall keep moving through this tract of timber all day long. If I see a fire I shall hurry to it, the way I came down to your big smoke. I'll put it out, if possible. And if I can't get it out, I'll summon help. Then we'll fight it until we do get it out."

"How could you get help, when you're alone in the deep forest?"

"I'd make my way out to the highway where our wire runs and connect up this portable telephone," and the ranger pointed to a little leather case, like a kodak box, that hung from his shoulder by a leather strap. "In a minute's time a fire crew would be on the way to my a.s.sistance in a motor-truck."

The ranger handed Charley the empty cup and thanked him.

"Have some more coffee?" urged Charley.

"'Get thee behind me, Satan,'" quoted the ranger. "I believe you'd keep me here all day if you could. I must be moving."

"Just a minute," pleaded Charley. "You said it was difficult to find fire patrols. Could I get a job as a fire patrol? I don't know as much about fighting fire as you do, but I can patrol the forest and report fires as well as anybody."

"I wish you could be a patrol," replied the ranger heartily. "I'm sure you'd make a good one. You seem to like the forest. But I don't believe it is possible. The chief never hires anybody under twenty-one years of age excepting in very unusual circ.u.mstances. In fact, I know of only two such cases. And those two boys were almost of age and were unusualy well qualified. I'm sorry, for I'd like to see you in the Forest Service.

Good-bye." He turned on his heel and was gone.